


Valentine

by oOoElvenGloryoOo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dom Solas (Dragon Age), F/M, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oOoElvenGloryoOo/pseuds/oOoElvenGloryoOo
Summary: Just gonna be blunt. I am a thirsty ass bitch who sat around all day thinking about getting a little dread wolf dickin down. Here, have some smut.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Lavellan & Solas
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Valentine

"More light" he muttered, realizing the candles were no longer piercing the darkness clearly enough to paint. Closing his eyes, he clenched his fist and the world grew still around him. He opened his fist, palm up, and a cluster of bright, clear points of light released themselves, spreading across the room, adjusting so that the plastered wall was in clear view. 

The heady incense wafting from the desk did not cover the smell of wet paint and the herbs from his pipe. The background was done. Deep blue, the color of the sky just before it was officially night. His color, though it's silly for one to say that. 

Hardly a gift for Lover's Day. He took a deep hit from his pipe and laid back against the cold stone floor. What did Dorian say were the traditions?

Hearts. He meant ones made of paper, scrawled with pretty words about forever, as temporary as a spilled glass of water bleeding the ink, dissolving the pulp. His eyes fluttered shut, the herb taking him, like dipping your toes in the warm water of the fade. Hearts are feral things. Blood on hands and meat in teeth things. Her pulse pounding beneath his lips like a frightened rabbit. Would he call her that? No. Vhenan. Feel her go slack against him, soft needy noises, grinding against his hand, thumb on the spot that made her heart race and face flush. 

Sweets. Cake that takes hours to bake, covered in roses and flourishes. Ruin it. Breasts smashed into buttercream. Her bent over, hands behind back, mouth full of lemon sponge as she comes.

He was rock hard now, taking another hit, unabashedly stroking himself, the silk of his pajamas against such sensitive skin driving him further. 

Jewelry. That's all she'd wear. Thick ropes of gold set with pale pink gems. She looked good in pink. Dusky rose nipples peaking out between jewels. He'd tell her to kneel, to spread her legs so he could slide beneath. Tongue against the pearl of her coral ocean. The jangle of chains as she shuddered and cried and let him drown in her pleasure. 

Flowers. Roses. Petals parting. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. Lips swollen with arousal, brushing the head of his cock. Feeling every fold and crease, resisting the urge to plunge into that welcoming center that draws him, entices. He liked to rest his cock against her, to see how long he could resist. To see how wet and desperate she could become. She'd squirm and press herself harder against him. He could use magic to keep her like this for hours, if he wanted. That one time he did use magic. The way she twitched, the way she breathed in short little pants. He'd grabbed her hair, close to the scalp, and pulled her to him, thrusting against her ever so gently. The way she begged him to just fuck her. Please. He stopped moving entirely, her eyes wide and pleading. "Solas, please, it aches...". Something about that word set him off. He'd entered her slowly, deliberately, letting her cunt swallow him up. He took off the spell and felt her walls clench around him, juices drenching them both, sending him reeling towards his own climax.

Giving into his carnal fantasy, he shoved down his pants, already halfway to release. He came with soft little groans, biting his lower lip, ejaculate landing on his paint palette. 

He licked the last few drops from his finger and retied his pajamas. Now, to paint. A landscape of a garden, a place they could always meet in the fade, complete with his essence. A link. A way to stay connected when....he shook the thought from his head, and worked until the sun rose pink and gold on the horizon.


End file.
